Tell Addy that I love her.
Tears streamed down my face, my throat raw as wave after wave of undiluted magic rolled off of me.
Lost in release, I didn’t register the firm hands holding me up.
“You can stop, Nyleeria,” Caius’ voice said, “you’re home.”
A guttural sound escaped me as I understood the meaning of his words, and then my body finally gave way.
Chapter 65
Laying Blame
Iwas that little boy again—trapped in Endymion’s mind.
Shortly after being found clinging to his mother’s dead body, he stood with the other children. The otherorphanedchildren. At least that’s what the adults had called him, though he didn’t have the faintest as to what the word meant.
Looking down for the hundredth time at his muddy boots, he resisted the urge to clean them off again. He preferred to be clean. To be proper. But the filth of this place seemed to cling to him as much as the sorrow that’d permanently draped itself over his shoulders since he’d fallen to his mother’s side and pleaded for her to wake.
He looked around seeing the clear markers of a massive camp. It wouldn’t be until later that he’d understand that all the Autumn Court orphans had been conscripted to the Axelian Army, and would be trained as merciless killers.
He was younger than any of the memories before as his small legs tried to keep up, and had I not felt the difference in his strides, thehappiness in his heart that was devoid of grief would’ve been enough to let me know that his parents were still alive.
I bathed in the lightness of his heart, knowing I’d never experienced such carefree happiness before. There was no pang at that realization. In fact, opposite was true. I felt immense gratitude that he’d know that kind of freedom.
“Caius, wait up,” Endymion called after the little blond boy in front of him.
“Come on, Endymion,” Caius’ boyish voice called back in encouragement. “It’s just over the hill.”
Suddenly, the closeness I’d witnessed between them finally made sense—they’d known each other since childhood.
Tucked into the top bunk in the barracks, tears stained Endymion’s tattered pillowcase. He used to weep for his parents, then for the violence he witnessed. But now, now he wept for the violence he’d been forced to inflict.
He didn’t look at the skilled warriors as the others did. No, there was no sense of awe or reverence for them. He saw them as barbarians. Brutes. And he cursed the stars for making him naturally blessed at wielding, weapons, and the innate skill to end another’s life.
Mostly, he hated himself for becoming exactly what they wanted him to be.
Rain poured from the heavens, the rivulets rolling down the contours of Endymion’s bare chest as he ignored the numbness in his fingers as he lost himself to footwork, the sword doing his bidding as it sliced through the air, slaying invisible demons.
He tried to stay calm despite the increasing ache in his head—the one indicating anotherepisodewas imminent if he couldn’t clear his mind.
One moment he moved like the wind; the next, his knees buckled, his forgotten sword clattering to the sodden ground as he clutched his head against the torrent of memories that didn’t belong to him.
Screaming, he fell to his side.
The instant he hit the ground, I was thrown out of his body.
A sense of unease settled over me as I stood alone in the middle of the sparring platform, the biting cold of the rain soaking through my leathers.
“Hello, Little Star.” The familiar timbre of Endymion’s voice caressed me with a warm comfort that brought a smile to my face.
I spun around to find him—as I knew him now—within an arm’s reach.
“Hi,” I said, my voice breathy as emotion flooded me.
Without hesitation, Endymion closed the distance between us and placed a warm hand on the side of my face, his gaze boring into mine. I melted into his touch, leaning my head against his large palm. I slid my hands up his torso, and he sucked in a ragged breath before he leaned down and pressed his forehead against mine.
“Stars, what I wouldn’t give to kiss you,” he said, the words more plea than anything else.
